Carrying His Child

I can't get this out of my head.

I flashed back to this on Friday night - the night I wrote that post below (Cheers...) about wanting to help other survivors.

I flashed back to standing in my parent's house, staring out onto the street out of the big floor-ceiling bay window. I realized my period was weeks late. I was silently freaking out. I never told anyone about what happened. My parents still do not know about my rape. My dad would have blamed me and thrown me out of the house... after he had beaten the shit out of me... again.

I remember just staring out that window. It was quiet. No one was home. Even the outside world seemed to be on pause - overcast, nothing moving or making a sound.

I couldn't have an abortion in my hometown - everyone knew me and my family. I was noticed everywhere I went. Even in high school, students would come up to me and ask, "You're ---- daughter, aren't you?" I hated it. Although I was popular anyway, I hated that complete strangers knew my family and our family history just because of our name. If word got out about my rape, I would have been - literally - wearing a scarlet letter all my own. People already were telling lies about me - where I was, who I was with... this is what my dad and I always fought about. He would believe the rumors instead of his own daughter.

My dad would never believe my rape was NOT my fault. I guess, looking back now, instead of letting my dad blame me, I blamed myself. I think I still do. I have to let go of that. I can't blame myself anymore. It was NOT my fault. MY RAPE IS NOT MY FAULT.

I knew I had to drive myself out of town to have the abortion. But I also knew I couldn't go alone - after you have an abortion, you are totally and completely out of it, sometimes still bleeding heavily for a few days. I know this because I helped a close friend earlier that year through her abortion.

She was the one I was going to call to drive me to have my abortion. I couldn't believe I was carrying his fucking baby inside of me. I wanted to die. I wanted to die so bad. So I tried to make it all end.

After my dad beat the shit out of me one night, he and my mom left to a dinner party. I pulled out a butcher knife and pushed it into my stomach. I pushed it slowly and slowly, deeper and deeper, feeling it go into my stomach. I envisioned myself laying in a pool of my own blood on the kitchen floor. This was how my parents would find me. Swimming lifelessly in a pool of my own blood, his stains washed away with mine.